To Rest with Memories and Laughter
by mew-xena
Summary: Will you dig my grave Much? When I die?" Marian had whispered once. He never expected to fullfill his promise. Missing Scene from Marian's Funeral. MarianxMuch Friendship


The last funeral Much went to was at Loxley. There weren't funeral's in the Holy Land, not in the proper sense. There were mounds in the sand, crude crosses to identify them. There were sermons and priests. There were mourners, sometimes, but when everyone is dead inside, what difference does a hole and a cross make?

Much had been 18 when he stood upon that hill, watching them lower Hatti into her grave. He stood between Robin and Marian, as he always did, as he always will, and when Robin left to pay his respects, he and Marian continued to stand there, watching in companion silence.

"Will you dig my grave Much? When I die?"

Much started and swung to stare. "Wha-"

"And sing when you do it. Sing and tell our stories and laugh. I don't-" And here she choked, "I don't to be buried like this."

She swept her hand, gathering up the clouds and the rain, the mourners, the tears, the drawn out sermons and the cold empty grave.

"If I have to rest eternally, I want to do it with memories and laughter."

Much looked at her, not at the tears slipping down her face, but the bitter distaste in her eyes. She leaned slightly, brushing his hand with hers and he would agree, but…

"Why not Robin?"

Marian turned to look at him, a sad smile pulling at her lips. There is a knowing look in her eyes, glassy with fresh tears. She smiles at him as though she knows something, and he desperately wants to share the secret.

"You are the stronger man Much. You always have been."

***

This is what Much remembers as he stares at Marian 's body –_how? why?_- in Robin's arms. This is when, as Robin sets her down, brushing her hair aside, Much realizes what Marian meant, what that knowing look was, why she asked him.

Robin was broken.

There would be no laughter, no songs from him. If Much let him do this, he thinks as he watches Robin pick up a shovel, there will be no stories for Marian. If Much lets him do this, Marian will rest with sand and tears and broken sobs.

This is why Much grabs the shovel.

When Robin turns, spins really, a movement that is both languid and fierce,his eyes blaze in a way that would have made the Much from before withdraw. But he holds his ground, unable to run from Marian's wish.

"I promised her."

It's all he says, but it's enough.

Robin doesn't let go, but he sags, the blaze fading. Much gently pulls the shovel, watching it slip from Robin's hands.

Then, Much begins to dig.

***

At first, there is silence, the others watching in eerie, deadly silence. Much looks up, sees the tears and the mourners and once again he is at Loxley, watching them lower Hatti, brushing hands with Marian, and that memory hurts so much he physcially recoils.

This is how she wants –_wanted_- it. So he swallows down his tears and starts to talk.

"Do you remember the first time we met, Marian?" He takes care not to look at her body, but watches the shovel's work, deeper and deeper. "You were sitting in the manor, waiting for clothes to dry because Master had thrown dung in your hair."

He manages a bitter laugh, concentrating on the shovel, pointedly not seeing the way Robin has frozen, or that John looks at him as though he has lost his mind, or that Will is moving towards him. Much fears what he will do, because while Much may be strong, has forced himself to be strong for her, for Marian, he doubts he has the strength to fight Will off, or worse, explain. But Djaq is there now, tugging Will away and Much would smile his thanks if it didn't hurt so bad.

"You were eight then, and wouldn't let us forget it." He says instead, as the shovel goes deeper.

"And do you remember, the way we used to make up quests? You would always refuse to be the damsel and you and Robin would fight until you two would finally agree that I would be the damsel and that was the end of that." He chuckles, and this time it isn't so forced. "I never got any words in between the two of you."

"I remember, she used to come down for fairs," Will says, and Much is so relieved that he finally looks up and smiles shakily. "She would dance every dance and share her treats with those who didn't have any." Will had been staring to the horizon, now he meets Much's eyes. "She was a good lady."

Much nods and looks back at the shovel. Deeper, deeper it goes, wider now, as he tells story after story, the laughs coming easier until it doesn't hurt to remember.

Robin never speaks, and Much is glad. For once, only Much can give Marian what she needs.

He is almost finished when he runs out of stories. There are many left, entire lifetimes of them, but none he feels willing to expose to this moment, none that he's willing to taint with this sorrow. That's how he will be selfish, perhaps, even in this selfless gesture. He will keep those, those memories that are too precious to give.

Instead, he sings, soft and low. It is a common lullaby in England, and he wants Marian to lay, in this hot foreign place, with some remants of home. He finishes, but continues to sing as he climbs out. The others are singing too he discovers, and sings the louder for it. Their voices mingle and settle over this place, filling the grave and the singers with a quiet love. He swears, as the song closes, the he can hear Robin's rough timbre at the last moment.

The silence comes back, not the harsh silence he fought so hard against, but a tender quiet. Robin's king wil come later, and Marian will lay in her grave, and no doubt there will be sermons and tears. He can't stop that. But here, now, he at least gave her the funeral she wanted.

There are many things he could say, many things he wants to say. But he has already said much, in his stories and his digging. Now, there is only one thing left to say.

"Goodbye, my lady."


End file.
